


a scenic world

by softlyforgotten



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-22
Updated: 2009-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Frank loves Gerard’s stupid faces and his ideas that make him wake Frank up in the middle of the night, but try as he might he can’t remember thinking back then ‘this dude is awesome; clearly I want to host a nature show with him’.</i> AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a scenic world

There are times in his life when Frank regrets meeting Gerard.

Most of the time he doesn’t; most of the time he is too busy covering up what he suspects may be a massively obvious crush on the way Gerard gets really excited and starts flailing around with a huge grin, or how focused and intent he gets when he’s painting or sketching out storyboard ideas, or that tiny smile that Gerard has when he’s rocking back and forth on his heels and explaining a brilliant new idea that he’s had.

Times like now, though, Frank will look at Gerard and think _you goddamned motherfucking asshole, I hope you die a horrible, painful death that is only surpassed by your horrible, painful afterlife._

He doesn’t say it aloud, though, because that would probably make Gerard sad. Instead, he tightens the straps on his backpack, takes a deep breath, grabs the rope and starts to climb down into the mouth of the volcano.

 

Frank and Gerard meet in college, because they share a zoology class. Frank’s doing zoology with a side degree in psychology, and Gerard’s doing it along with art, and they end up sitting next to each other. It’s not really a particularly interesting start to a friendship, but after about four lessons of friendly smiles and small talk Frank leans over at the end of one lecture and says, “Wow, I totally just tuned out. What was he talking about?”

“Uh,” Gerard says, “I don’t really know, I was singing in my head.”

They start exchanging notes and help for various homework and assignments, and then hanging out when not in class, and at the end of sophomore year they find an apartment and officially vote each other the best possible housemate. Gerard is Frank’s best friend, and Frank loves him in spite of (or perhaps because of) Gerard’s mood changes and sometimes seriously disturbing habits when it comes to art or grocery shopping or personal cleanliness (and yeah, Frank doesn’t love that one so much). He loves Gerard’s stupid faces and his ideas that make him wake Frank up in the middle of the night, but try as he might he can’t remember thinking back then ‘this dude is awesome; clearly I want to host a nature show with him’.

 

It was blind luck, really, that got Frank and Gerard their show. They’d been talking about it idly for ages, stupid _what if_ s and _well if I were famous_ -es, and it had mostly consisted of them bitching about the prospective shows they were working for, and how this was totally not what they’d signed up for when they decided to work with animals in a different medium to the plain old study version of it.

(There were almost constant fights over who had the idea to work with animals through television first; both of them were convinced it was their own idea. Frank secretly thinks it was because Mikey had let Gerard borrow his copy of _Planet Earth_ , and they’d both looked at each other with huge, identical hearts in their eyes at the baby polar bears in _Pole to Pole_ , and that had been that.)

Gerard was working for a show called _Pet Circuses_ at the time, an “exciting half hour of new tricks by old animals! Before you pay to go to the Big Tent, check out what these ordinary household pets can do!” Then one day, out of the blue, the guy who was meant to be hosting an episode fell sick, and Gerard was the closest person available. He was thrust, blinking, in front of the cameras with half an hour’s warning and a cheery “you’ll do fine, just improvise!”

Frank saw the episode a week later, when Gerard brought him the tape. It was, undoubtedly, the weirdest episode of _Pet Circuses_ he had ever seen in his life, Gerard having apparently decided that if he was going to present this show, well then, he was going to present it _his_ way. Gerard had charged around this particular person’s house, giving it a “proper circus air” (which was, as far as Frank could see, a black/red coloring system with blood and looming, malevolent looking shadows, and a few clowns chucked in for good measure). He made posters, costumes, and threw drapery over lamps with great enthusiasm to ensure the proper ambiance. then, when the pets were finally dragged out to show off their tricks he failed to appear anything but singularly unimpressed, despite the best efforts of the editing team, and was heard suggesting at the end that the owner of the pets (a fifty year old housewife) invest in some vampire bats.

It was one of the funniest things Frank had ever seen, and he loved Gerard even more after watching it (if that was even _possible_ ), but even so he had never been so surprised in his life as when Gerard got a call from Schechter/Bryar productions to talk to him about the possibility of his own show. Apparently, Gerard told Frank afterwards, they had liked his charisma, and he was free to do whatever kind of thing he liked. He’d already met the probable cameraman and editor, Ray Toro )who was awesome) and Bob Bryar himself had said he wanted to direct. Then Gerard went straight to his and Frank’s house and paced around the living room waving his hands around and getting steadily pinker in the face.

“Travelling all over the world, Frankie!” Gerard beams, starting to wind down at last. “Filming wild animals properly! Drawing attention to endangered species! Frank, Frank, I’ll be _saving lives_!”

“That’s great, Gee,” Frank tells him, trying very hard not to sound too miserable at the thought of Gerard jetting off for months at a time without him. They’d lived together for _ever_ ; Frank couldn’t imagine living on his own, or – worse – with somebody else. “I’ll watch all your shows, man, biggest fan and all that shit.”

“Wait,” Gerard says, frowning. “Are you – are you not coming with me then? I mean, if you really don’t want to, I guess that’s fine, I just thought—”

“Uh,” Frank says, “Gerard, you didn’t _say_ anything about me coming—”

“I didn’t?” Gerard asks, airily, and smiles beatifically at him. “Oh, no, I told them I’d only do it if you got to co-host with me, and Bob and Brian are pretty cool, so. Yeah, I mean, of course you’d come too, that’s what we always talked about. Duh.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Frank says, beaming, and then he can’t help it, jumps up off the couch and tackles Gerard in a massive bear hug. Gerard giggles and pats Frank’s back, and Frank grins and presses closer until he suddenly had a terrible, terrible thought and pulls away.

“Wait,” he says, “This doesn’t mean Mikey’s gonna be our guide, like you also talked about, does it?”

Gerard frowns at him, confused. “Why wouldn’t he be?” he asks, and Frank moans pitifully and sinks to the ground, covering his face with his hands.

 

They’re pretty big, these days, especially since their certifiably awesome second season, and Frank thinks it’s a result of the whole team, really. (Yeah, even Mikey, whose favorite phrase is “ _I_ don’t know, why don’t we just try this path?”) Gerard is beautiful and sincere in front of the camera, and viewers love him almost as much as Brendon Urie ( _the_ Brendon Urie, of _B.Urie’s Maritime Adventures!_ ); Ray picks the best shots ever, and can normally talk Mikey out of taking the road less travelled by (no matter what Robert Frost says); Bob is cool and in control and he never, ever gets angry at Frank, not even when Frank decides he wants to film antelopes just because he likes the way they run, and sets the whole crew off on what’s meant to do a few hours detour and ends up being three days worth of trekking over the savannah.

It’s not until Sir David Attenborough (and he’s one of those people where you’ve got to say his full name, every single time, you can’t just call him _David_ , jeez) casually “drops by” the studio when they’re brainstorming for the third series, though, that Frank realises how much attention they’ve suddenly got. That day was pretty cool, but mostly just because Gerard turned bright red and followed Sir David Attenborough around the whole time with huge, adoring eyes, but then stuttered and tried to hide every time Sir David Attenborough talked to him.

Frank was totally cool about it, though.

 

It’s not like it’s great all the time. Frank gets hurt a _lot_ , mostly because he’s a fucking idiot who likes to charge off down cliffs or walk straight into a cunningly disguised hole in the ground (he doesn’t get hurt around the animals. Frank thinks, if anything, he’s a good zoologist, and he tries to not get close enough to disturb them). It always makes Gerard fret and flap around a lot and try to shout at Frank for a while about getting himself killed, and that in turn makes Frank get a headache along with whatever particular injury he’s brought upon himself that particular time.

Then there’s the days and weeks of camping out in awful conditions, trying and trying to find a particular animal, sitting in blinds and watching seemingly barren mountainsides for weeks at a time; the constant, uncomfortable temperatures, either freezing cold or boiling hot; the unfriendly people they meet along the way and the fact that they constantly get sick of each other, the whole group refusing to speak to one another.

There are distinct incidents, like that time with the hot air balloon that Gerard _still_ hasn’t forgiven Frank for (the hot air balloon was a simple case of anything that can go wrong will, and Gerard had spent most of the time curled in a ball white as a ghost in the rocking basket, smoking cigarette after cigarette – even though it probably wasn’t a good idea in a wicker basket – and swearing in a low, continuous mumble, while Frank hung off the sides and shouted “fuck, _yeah_!”), or the one where Mikey _swore_ he’d got the path completely figured out, had asked some of the locals and everything, and then proceeded to get them so lost that it was night before they realised exactly _how_ lost they were, and then they had to wait for the sun to rise in the east and tell them where the fuck they were.

It’s shitty and makes them all furious at each other a good six months of the year, sure. Frank still wouldn’t want to do anything else in the world.

 

Gerard’s smoking outside when Frank arrives at the office, and Frank goes out to find him leaning against the brick wall with narrowed eyes, staring up at the sky, which means that he’s probably planning out something. Frank lights his own cigarette and approaches him, but it’s not until he gets really close that Gerard notices him, looks up – kind of startled – and smiles inattentively at him.

Frank takes up a position next to him, and they both smoke in silence for a while. Finally, Frank says, “so what are we planning?” Gerard takes a thoughtful drag at his cigarette and then turns to Frank and accidentally exhales all over him. It’s lucky, Frank thinks, scrunching up his nose, that Gerard tries hard not to be too absent minded around people until they know him, otherwise everyone would think he was a real asshole.

Gerard says, thoughtfully, “You know what we haven’t done for ages? _Seahorses_.”

Frank looks at him in a resigned sort of way. “I’ll call Spencer,” he says, and tries not to smile back _too_ stupidly when Gerard beams at him.

 

Spencer says, doubtfully, “I dunno, we did seahorses, like, two months ago.”

“Please,” Frank says, after relating this to Gerard and being given the huge, pleading eyes Gerard’s perfected in lieu of a proper response. “Gerard wants to talk about the males bearing the babies or something. He says he’s got a whole metaphor worked out about it.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, “but—” and then there is a sudden clatter and a muffled argument, before Brendon comes on the line.

“Hi, Frank!” he says, cheerfully. “Is Gerard there? I need to talk to him. Ross wants to go to Venezuela.”

Frank rolls his eyes and hands the phone over.

 

Spencer Smith directs a show that was meant to be a tiny filler, directed mostly at teachers who might want a twenty minute segment on sea/freshwater life for a class, and ended up being an hour long (hour and a half to two hours on special occasions) show that was sometimes a drama and sometimes a comedy and one of the highest rating programs on animal planet. It attracts the most hardcore fan base ever seen for a documentary, and Spencer now earns an almost obscene salary.

The reason for most of this is Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross.

It’s pretty simple, really: Ryan writes the show, and Brendon hosts it. Brendon is a tiny, excited blur onscreen, who studied marine biology and zoology and music, because he couldn’t decide which one he liked best; Ryan is quiet and clever and has perfected the disdainful gaze, and he has an extensive collection of scarves (three of which are themed ‘marine life’, but Brendon picked them out, not Ryan).

Ryan and Spencer have been best friends forever; when Spencer got his own time slot to do what he liked with it, he pulled Ryan out of his current hermit phase of locking himself in his apartment, trying to write a brilliant screenplay and forced him to return to his science roots. Ryan had studied marine biology and zoology at college as well, but had dropped out of an internship at a lab to go back and study creative writing and film, apparently on a whim. It took Spencer a month to convince Ryan that linking the two different careers together would not only be easy, it would also be _fun_ and totally creative, Ryan, he’s sure lots of brilliant writers once wrote for Animal Planet.

Next Spencer stole Jon Walker, who he’d worked with in the past. Spencer was convinced that Jon was the best editor in the business, and Jon was also a brilliant cameraman, _especially_ around animals, so that was that. later, people would ask how Jon knew the tiny little show would get so wildly popular, and Jon just shrugged and grinned in his easy way and said, “Clearly you’ve never had Spencer Smith try and woo you to do something for him. I would have thought becoming a waste disposal guy was a brilliant career move if Spencer decided to persuade me it was.”

It was finding the host that was the hardest thing; for a little while, to Ryan’s despair, Spencer decided that Ryan would just have to do it, despite Ryan’s hatred of being the guy everyone looked at. Then, Brendon Urie turned up to an audition out of the blue; he spent half an hour chatting to Jon while waiting for the interview, and then screen-tested perfectly (Spencer had a feeling, though, that even if he _hadn’t_ Jon still would have forced Spencer to hire him).

And there was their team.

 

Brendon and Ryan didn’t meet until about three days after Brendon got the job. Ryan came into the office after being holed up in his room for two weeks with the first rough idea for an episode, and Spencer was talking to Ryan when Brendon sidled out of his office and stared for a while.

“Hi,” he said, finally, and there was an odd tone to his voice that Spencer doesn’t recognise. Ryan swung around, mouth open to bitch out whoever’s interrupted them, and then promptly snapped his mouth shut again, blinking and staring as if at the sun.

“Uh,” Ryan said, eventually, when Brendon looks awkward and a little bit weirded out. “Hi?”

Oh, goddamnit, Spencer thought, and shut his mouth against a groan.

 

Brendon’s studied thousands of different creatures in college and in the wild; he reads huge fat books about them in his spare time and disappears when they’re not filming for weeks at a time (which drives Ryan in particular crazy) trekking along rivers learning about more species, but his favorite animals in the world are still the otters.

As a result, they film at least two shows that involve otters every year. It’s always Brendon’s favorite shows to film; he loves the family dynamics and the way they fish and the way they’ll deliberately tease and get in the face of the Mugger Crocodiles in India (“Sticking it to the man,” Brendon says, gleefully).

Once, Spencer tries to talk Ryan into maybe not doing anything about otters this season, but Ryan refuses to even let Spencer discuss the idea. The otters make Brendon happy, as far as he’s concerned, and Ryan likes it when Brendon’s happy.

 

The first time he meets Brendon, Frank’s flown out on location where _B.Urie’s Maritime Adventures!_ are filming to discuss doing a special joint episode together. he leans forward and sticks out his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Frank Iero, I was wondering if—”

“I know,” Brendon says cheerfully, “Spencer already told me about it. It’s gonna be awesome, we’re totally in, Ryan’s already got tons of ideas. anyway, I’ve got to go talk now, bye!”

Brendon bounds in front of the cameras and Frank’s left wondering how he could possibly know when nobody, as far as Frank knew, had even told _Spencer_ yet. He blinks and turns slightly, to where some dude with a scruffy beard and flip-flops (and has no one told him he’s standing _in the water_ in winter?) is half-heartedly observing a camera and smiling at him. Brendon is beaming and talking a mile a minute, bouncing a little on the heels of his feet.

“He’s a marine biologist?” Frank asks. “ _Really_?”

The guy filming shrugs. “He saw _The Little Mermaid_ when he was little and never went back, apparently,” he says, and Frank nods politely because there doesn’t seem to be any other possible reaction.

In front of the cameras, Brendon says, “So horseshoe crabs have existed in pretty much the same shape for the past one hundred and thirty five _million_ years. Which is amazing, seriously.”

“Huh,” Frank says.

 

After Frank’s initial surprise, he loves working with Spencer Smith’s team. Brendon especially is awesome and always ready to hide in trees above and drop leeches on Gerard and Ryan during one of their frequent discussions about their respective artist’s vision. Brendon loves working with them, too, because it normally means that they find a way to combine land and water in the show, and Brendon misses talking about land animals sometimes. Last time they’d done a segment on crab eating macaques, and according to the rest of the _Maritime Adventures!_ crew it was the most enraptured Brendon had ever been with an animal; besides the otters, of course. Frank’s firmly convinced that if Brendon wasn’t such a good zoologist he would have tried to steal one of them.

The rest of Frank’s team (excluding Gerard, who is as oblivious as Brendon) enjoys it for lots of reasons, but mostly because Ryan is even more blindingly obvious about Brendon than Frank is about Gerard, and he looks really, really funny when he blushes. Bob and Ray still fondly remember the afternoon they sent Ryan down to the beach on the tropical island to find fetch a boxer-clad swimming Brendon for lunch as the best day of their lives, because no one has ever choked so spectacularly on air before in the history of the world.

 

“Venezuela?” Gerard says doubtfully into the phone, and Frank takes a drag of his cigarette, watching him cautiously.

Frank hears, from the other end, a tinny babble of words – something about waterfalls, something about bizarre, beautiful animals and the amazing scenery on the top of a Tepui, and a promise for at least half an hour about the monkeys down in the tropics.

Gerard is silent for a few minutes, and then he suddenly grins. Frank stubs out his cigarette and goes to tell Bob.

 

The Auyantepui Tepui where they film the last half (which will actually be the beginning half, when it goes to air) of the show is pretty amazing. Gerard spends the first three days gaping around him, and then wandering off and getting lost. Bob has threatened to fire Gerard if he gets lost anymore, mostly because it means they have to send Mikey off after him, who is meant to be their guide and therefore able to track animals/overly-excited nature show hosts in any terrain, no matter how unknown it is, or at least be able to read a map, but because it’s _Mikey_ he ends up going in the opposite direction. Eventually, Bob has to go off after both of them.

It rains every day, which makes filming pretty hard, just because Frank, Gerard and Brendon can only talk for about ten minutes before they’re dripping wet in front of the camera and looking supremely stupid. But Ray Toro is, as far as everyone’s concerned, the master of filming, and Jon Walker makes it impossible for anyone to be unhappy, so it’s not so bad.

 

Brendon sticks his head inside the tent and says, “The rain’s easing up, Jon reckons we’ll be able to film for a while tomorrow without getting soaked.”

“Awesome,” Ryan says, peering at the book he’s holding up to his face. He sighs and rolls over to face Brendon. “It’s getting too dark to read, and I’ve run out of batteries for my torch,” he informs Brendon kind of sulkily, and then adds in a more thoughtful voice, “You’re dripping all over our tent.”

“I’m pretty drenched,” Brendon agrees cheerfully. “We should go to sleep, anyway, four AM start tomorrow.”

“Urgh,” Ryan says unhappily, but he puts the book down and rolls onto his side, politely averts his eyes while Brendon rustles around in his bag and changes into dryer clothes, swearing in a continuous low mumble to himself. Then, he goes and prods Ryan with his foot.

“What?” Ryan asks.

“I’m _cold_ ,” Brendon tells him, shaking his wet head like a dog and letting droplets fly everywhere, including on Ryan, what the fuck. “Move over.”

“ _What_?” Ryan repeats, crossly. “Brendon, no, go steal one of Jon’s warm jumpers or something. I’m not sharing my bed, asshole.”

“I already _did_ ,” Brendon tells him, using his thumbs to jab the ugly, embroidered Christmas tree on the huge woolly jumper he’s wearing. “Don’t be mean, Ross, c’mon.”

“I’m in a _sleeping_ bag, there’s no—”

“You have the biggest sleeping bag in the world,” Brendon says, plaintively, “There’s plenty room.”

“I have long legs,” Ryan says, grumpily.

“Long, _skinny_ legs,” Brendon says, and kneels down and forcibly pushes Ryan over, squirming in beside him. Ryan grumbles to himself but makes room, and the fit’s a little bit tight, but if they both lie on their sides it’s quite comfortable. Ryan keeps his back to Brendon and sighs huffily, closing his eyes, but then Brendon spoons up behind him, cuddling up warm against Ryan’s back, and Ryan’s breath catches.

“See?” Brendon breathes, breath warm on the back of Ryan’s neck. “Body heat, dude.”

“Uh-huh,” Ryan says dumbly, and then, very cautiously, he reaches back. Thank God for Brendon and his natural affection, there is no awkward groping or _can I_ -s; Brendon just grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. He falls asleep quickly, the asshole, but Ryan lies awake for hours, barely daring to breathe, incredibly conscious of every place where Brendon’s touching him, curled warm around Ryan.

At around midnight Brendon rolls away a little, and Ryan shivers, but holds onto Brendon’s hand, and a few minutes later Brendon wakes up. “Still awake, Ross?” he asks sleepily.

“Uh, you know,” Ryan says, lamely. “Bad dreams.”

“Mmmn,” Brendon says, and moves closer, drapes his leg around Ryan’s, arm snaking over his waist and okay, this is totally unfair, how the hell is Ryan meant to stand up to the force of unadulterated cuddling? “Hey,” Brendon says, voice thick. “S’okay. I’ve got your back,” and Ryan knows Brendon’s smiling in the dark, and the reasons he knows this is because Brendon drops a warm, confused kiss on Ryan’s cheek, and Ryan can _feel_ the smile.

There is silence for a moment, and then Ryan says, voice low, “Bren.” But Brendon is already asleep.

 

Brendon’s gone when Ryan wakes up, and it’s still raining, huge sheets of rain that are buffeted by the wind straight into his face. He almost goes back into his tent but it starts to ease up a little, until it’s more or less a steady downpour, and he’s already soaked through so he goes to find Brendon, because he doesn’t think he can stand another night like last one without knowing for sure what it means.

Brendon’s not with any of the others, so Ryan sets out away from their campsite, backpack with water and food and an emergency flare slung over his shoulder, because it’s impossible to tell how far Brendon’s going to go when he gets in one of his moods.

As it turns out, Brendon’s not that far, only half an hour from the camp. He’s leaning against a wall of rock, gazing out over the landscape, wet and bedraggled and Ryan’s just glad that Brendon doesn’t wear his glasses out here.

“Brendon,” he says, but the roar of the rain is louder and Ryan has to walk up to him, place a hand on his shoulder before Brendon turns around and smiles, and something leaps in Ryan’s chest again, hard and fast and still unexpected, even though he’s pretty used to the way Brendon makes him react.

Brendon says, “I was too late for the sunrise,” and then pauses and adds, “It’s pretty cool, anyway.” Ryan huffs a laugh and nods, and he doesn’t quite stand next to Brendon, just a little bit behind him, resting his chin on Brendon’s shoulder, and leaning on him slightly. Brendon tilts his head to the side and regards Ryan curiously, but then he smiles, and it looks different this close up. Ryan smiles back anyway.

“Reckon you’ll ever get used to how different everything is up here?” he asks eventually, and Brendon laughs, short and warm.

“Nup,” he says, “Never.”

Ryan laughs quietly because it’s expected that he does, but Brendon isn’t really looking at him, anyway – he’s staring out over the plateau, towards the distant waterfall. Ryan closes his eyes and screws up all his courage, and if his breath is coming a little hard, well, the walk was mostly uphill and the altitude is taxing on everyone’s lungs. Then he says, “Brendon,” and puts his hand warm at Brendon’s waist and turns him around a little, and Brendon follows, blinking in a slightly confused way.

“Brendon,” Ryan says again, and Brendon blinks at him, confused, and Ryan pushes some of the wet hair away from Brendon’s face and then leans in, and just barely, just _barely_ brushes his mouth across Brendon’s.

It lasts only for a second, but when Ryan pulls back, heart in his throat, Brendon’s eyes have already closed; he opens them quickly, of course, and looks at Ryan with the slightest smile. “God,” he says, quietly, and then laughs, and Ryan twists his hands behind his back.

“Um,” Ryan says.

“Um,” Brendon agrees, and then he moves closer and takes Ryan’s face in his hands, long fingers curling in Ryan’s hair, and they both lean forward at the same time and kiss, a little clumsily. Ryan’s shaking a little bit, with the cold rain and maybe with how frightened he was a few seconds ago, and he brings his hands up to clutch at Brendon’s arms. For a second it feels like the movies, like one of those stupid, amazing kisses, but then Brendon backs away a little and Ryan opens his eyes and they’re standing on the goddamn Tepui in Venezuela and it’s got nothing to do with the movies, Ryan thinks, it’s all them.

And then they’re kissing again, and again, and again, and Ryan breathes in the water-drenched scent of Brendon and sucks on his bottom lip, and they’re clinging onto each other and the rain keeps falling but Ryan stops noticing.

 

It takes them a long while to come back to camp that day. When they do, they walk close together, heads bent towards each other, hands clasped. Jon sees them coming and stares for a second before scrambling off to tell everyone like the secret gossip he so clearly is.

“The crew’s gonna be unbearable,” Ryan grumbles when they’re almost there and they can see at least five people sneakily watching them and giggling a little bit.

Brendon looks at him, and his eyes are bright and warm, and he squeezes Ryan’s hand a little bit. “Don’t care,” he tells him, quietly, and Ryan swallows hard and doesn’t care either, not even that there are a bunch of people watching; he leans in and kisses Brendon again, fierce and warm and Brendon slips his tongue in so easy, like he’s been waiting for this for a long time, and Ryan shudders a little, sinks in closer to Brendon’s warmth.

They break away, breathing harsh, and Brendon says, “Uh,” and stares. His mouth is red and a little swollen, and Ryan’s eyes darken.

“Tent,” he says, “Now,” and sets off at a fast pace, dragging at Brendon’s hand. Brendon laughs and scrambles after him, and they reach camp with their gaze firmly on the ground, not looking anyone in the eye.

“We’re just gonna, uh, talk about some stuff for the new series,” Ryan declares to the air, and they both make a run for the tent.

It’s at that second that the rain stops, and Spencer says, gleefully, “Not so fast, Urie, we need you on set.”

“Jesus Christ,” Brendon says, and shoots a venomous glare up at the sky. Ryan whimpers pitifully, and Brendon turns around and kisses him firmly, hands resting on Ryan’s chest. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

“Uh-uh,” Spencer says, and why the fuck is he Ryan’s best friend, anyway, he’s clearly holding laughter in. And not very well, either. “We’ve got hours to film, Urie, and only so much time. Duty calls!”

Brendon says, calmly, “I hate you all,” and then, “Come and watch and do my make up and shit, Ross.”

“You don’t wear make up,” Ryan tells him, but Brendon looks at him with such warmth that Ryan’s heart does a weird, out of rhythm thump. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and Brendon smiles.

 

They finish filming the last scene of the special episode two weeks later, in a bright spot of the day, the sun shining down on them. Brendon stands in between Frank and Gerard, and they give the introduction spiel, which was the only thing they hadn’t filmed yet. It’s always Frank’s least favorite bit of the show – too much summary and glossing over details and he usually has to call up a fake smile for it, but there’s always a softer, kinder feeling to the last day of filming when they’re with Brendon’s crew. Often they won’t see each other again for months, both teams scattered on different sides of the earth, and pre-emptive nostalgia seeps into their presentation. Even Ryan, who has made it clear in the past fortnight just how much he begrudges all the time Brendon’s spending filming when being in Ryan’s tent would clearly be a much better use of his hours, looks vaguely melancholy. That could just be the eyeliner, though (and why the fuck _is_ Ryan wearing eyeliner up here, anyway?).

When they’re done, Frank sneaks off so as to avoid taking down tents and stuff (and Gerard will bitch at him later, but he really can’t stand it, so). He’s already planning a possible follow-up episode that will get them back here sometime soon, but he knows Bob and Gerard have storyboards for at least the next year, and he won’t get to see these surroundings for a long time.

It’s at this moment, with Frank scratching at the back of his neck and feeling fond of pretty much everything in the world, that he loses his footing and tumbles down the side of a really steep hill. _Oh, God_ , Frank thinks, because seriously, not _again_ , but he thinks – even as he’s slipping down across the wet terrain – that he’s probably going to get away with a few scratches and some heavy bruising.

Then a rock looms up at him and smashes against his leg, twisting him around at an awful angle. there’s a loud, sickening crack, and Frank thinks _Jesus motherfucking Christ and passes out._

 

He’s pretty sure, upon waking up, that he was only unconscious for a few minutes; his leg is in _agony_ , though, and he gasps and groans into the ground, trying and failing to sit up properly. He ends up hauling himself up onto his elbows and it makes him turn ashy white and get a little dizzy but he doesn’t throw up or pass out again or anything, so he supposes that’s something.

The air up here is so fucking thin; Frank had gotten used to it but all of a sudden it’s pretty much impossible to breathe again – he gulps in air in huge, shaky gasps, and it takes him a long time before he can raise his head to the sky and start hollering for someone to come find him.

It’s Bob, of course, who finally appears at the top of the hill. Frank shouts, “Bob!” one last time, and then lets his elbows slip down, rests his head on the ground again, mind reeling, head and leg and sides throbbing. Definitely a broken leg, he thinks, maybe a few ribs, too, and then Bob’s jogging down towards him, careful not to slip (yeah, Frank thinks, he should really try and learn from Bob one day) but as fast as he can.

“Fucking _hell_ , Iero,” Bob says, when he gets down there, and Frank smiles stupidly up at him.

“I love you, Bob,” Frank tells him, “But I’m pretty much dying right now, and if someone doesn’t get me some painkillers really soon I’m gonna bash my head against the rock that destroyed my leg in an attempt to get some peace.”

“Stay still,” Bob says, firmly, “I’ll be right back.”

He is, too; fifteen minutes later he’s back with half the crew (no Gerard, Frank is grateful to see, whose inevitable hysterics and shrieking at Frank probably wouldn’t make him feel any better; no Mikey, either, who claims he gets nauseous at the sight of blood/bones sticking out at weird angles) and a stretcher. He feeds Frank liberal painkillers and waits for about five minutes for them to start having an effect before he and Ray carefully lift Frank onto the stretcher. It still hurts like a bitch, but it’s bearable; Frank grits his teeth and mumbles out threats about various peoples’ moms, and then he’s on the stretcher, and everyone’s being as steady as they can. Frank takes a few deep, harsh breaths, and passes out again.

 

When he wakes up, he’s in the helicopter and Gerard is sitting next to him, wringing his hands. “Hi,” Frank says, croakily, and Gerard jumps about three feet in the air.

“ _Frankie_ ,” Gerard says, eyes huge and anxious and a little bit disturbing. Kind of like a bug, Frank thinks dreamily, but that’s probably the painkillers talking. “Are you okay? Does your leg hurt? How the fuck did you _do_ that? And why won’t you _stop_ doing it? Jesus, Frank, you’re the stupidest, clumsiest guy i’ve ever known in my life!”

“I’m doing fine, thank you,” Frank tells him, glaring, and Gerard huffs a sigh, pushes his hands through his hair, typically frustrated. Frank’s leg hurts and he’s pissed about not getting to say a proper goodbye to Brendon and his crew, and he wants to know how he can think Gerard is such a stupid, overreacting, hypocritical ass (because come on, it’s not like Gerard’s never fallen off a cliff or two; or, okay, not like Gerard _wouldn’t_ if he wasn’t such a big fucking wuss about heights) and still want to kiss him an almost ridiculous amount.

“I should never have asked you to host with me,” Gerard rants on, oblivious. “You’re going to get yourself _killed_ , and then half our fan base will disappear and the rest will _blame_ me for it. You’re fucking driving me crazy with this ‘lets wander off cliffs, I bet that won’t hurt much!’ thing you’ve got going, you goddamn stupid motherfucker.” He pauses, takes a deep breath and glares out the window. There’s silence for a few seconds, and then Gerard slants a begrudging glance at Frank, who’s sitting stony-faced with his arms folded, staring up at the roof of the helicopter. “Anyway,” he says, grumpily, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

 _Yeah_ , Frank thinks, glowering, _That’s how, you asshole._

 

Frank’s original diagnosis of a broken leg and cracked ribs proves to be true. He sits in hospital for a week feeling absurdly proud at his own skills, eating jello with his leg in a huge white plaster that’s slowly getting covered with sharpie – Gerard draws on it, of course, huge, glowering monsters and vampires saying “Get well soon, Frankie!” and a whole herd of antelope (which Frank appreciates, because he knows Gerard doesn’t love them as much as he does, and it takes Gerard ages to get their hooves and horns the way Frank likes them), and Bob and Ray sneak in while he’s asleep and draw a huge cock and balls on his foot that he doesn’t notice until, like, three days later, and Mikey signs his own name with a huge smiley face about three hundred times for no discernible reason.

That’s not the shitty bit of a broken bone; the _shitty_ bit is getting sent home and having to hop around on crutches for six weeks. Frank refuses to stay at home, though, because it’s not like his leg _hurts_ anymore. He goes into the office every day, instead, insisting on being there for the editing process of the new episode, and that way he gets to see Spencer and Jon again (“Brendon and Ryan,” Spencer informs him, rolling his eyes, “Have taken a week off for ‘writing’. I know, dude, none of the rest of us get a vacation just because we want to fuck each other a lot—” “—Although,” Jon puts in, smiling brightly, “I’m up for it if you are, Spence,” and then Spencer beats Jon around the head with his clipboard for a while) at least.

The crutches really hurt though, after a while, and the elevator at the station’s headquarters is slow and old and shitty, but Frank has to wait for it for, like, half an hour or spend an agonising fifteen minutes hopping up the stairs and apologising to his poor, misused armpits. By a month in the cast, he’s about ready to pitch a tantrum; by the time he finally gets to take it off he’s so impatient that he almost throws a fit in the hospital waiting room when the doctor’s twenty minutes later, and it’s only Gerard’s firm hold on his elbow that restrains him.

Finally, though, the cast is off, and Frank laughs at how unsteady his leg is, and ends up having to take the crutches home for the next few days, anyway. Gerard shoves him in the shower because apparently his foot is all “weird and fungusy now, Frank, seriously,” (and the irony of _Gerard_ making Frank shower doesn’t escape him) and Frank stands there for ages, flexing his toes and scratching his heel even if it’s not itchy.

Once Frank’s emerged, dressed and freshly unfungusy but still a little unsteady on his leg, Gerard’s sitting on their lounge watching the new Batman movie (which they’d missed when it was released in cinemas, much to Mikey and Gerard’s despair – Frank didn’t quite get why they were so upset, really, as with any new movie adaptation of a comic they just sit and bitch about how bad it is compared to the original). Frank sits on the other end and sprawls gratefully over the couch, depositing his feet in Gerard’s lap.

“Hi, Frank’s left leg,” Gerard says solemnly. “It’s been a while. How you doing?”

Frank laughs and says, “You totally missed it, didn’t you.”

“I cannot lie,” Gerard tells him, heaving a sigh. “My heart was broken, and now it is healed, along with your various bones.” He grabs Frank’s foot and yanks it up, depositing a sloppy kiss on the bridge of Frank’s foot with a smooching sound. Frank shrieks and yanks his foot away, accidentally (but gently!) kicking Gerard in the face in the process.

“ _Dude_!” he says, affronted. “That tickles!”

“Oh?” Gerard asks, raising an eyebrow, and then he makes a lunge for Frank’s foot and dives face first onto it, kissing it with way too much tongue and nibbling a little. Frank yelps out loud and struggles to get away, but Gerard’s got a firm grip now and he kisses Frank’s knee through his sweatpants (what, he’s at home, Frank can totally wear his daggy sweatpants if he wants to) and then Frank’s newly healed rib, all the time cackling madly while Frank screeches and tries to get away.

And then suddenly, Gerard is right up in front of Frank’s face, still laughing, but Frank falls abruptly silent. Maybe it’s a bit too obvious, because Gerard’s giggles falls gradually quiet and eventually he’s just looking curiously at Frank, still with a bit of a stupid smile on his face as though he’s forgotten what expression he’s meant to be having.

“Uh,” Frank says, and then Gerard leans down, cautiously, and kisses him.

 _Kisses him._

Frank can’t help it; he flails a little bit, and then just as Gerard goes to pull off (Frank can already see, from his odd viewpoint, the beginnings of a blush) he grabs at Gerard’s shirt and drags him back down, bites at Gerard’s bottom lip and opens his mouth. Gerard opens his mouth, too, maybe to say something, maybe just to make a quiet noise, but Frank takes the invitation and licks into it, sucking gently on Gerard’s tongue. And then they’re both kissing, hot and off-balance and Frank’s back is in a bit of an uncomfortable position but it’s still real, after so long, and Frank kind of wants to ask why now, why this particular newly healed broken bone, or whether Gerard had planned this, or whether Gerard had consciously _wanted_ this before, and if so then for how long, but he can’t bring himself to pull away from Gerard’s mouth (oh my God, Gerard’s _mouth_ ) long enough to ask.

Because he’s Frank, though, and his life is clearly cursed, he goes to push Gerard over and straddle him, forgets they’re on a couch, and promptly rolls both of them down onto the ground. Gerard yelps and Frank lands heavily on top of him, and then Gerard’s gasping for breath, and not in the good way. Frank flails for a little moment on the ground and then manages to pull himself off, and Gerard lies there wheezing.

“Shit,” Frank says, eyes huge. “Oh my God, Gee, I’m sorry—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gerard says in a strained way, flapping a hand at him, “Wait a moment.”

Frank flops onto his back and closes his eyes, and they lie there in silence for a moment until Gerard says, uncertainly, “Frankie?”

Frank makes a complicated hand gesture at him that is meant to convey _please feel free to leave, I’m just trying to sink into the ground here, I am too embarrassed to ever look you in the face again_ , but Gerard makes a small, unhappy noise and slides closer to Frank, nudges his nose against the side of Frank’s face. The gesture’s small, and light, like Gerard’s ready to pull away at any second, but Frank opens his eyes and Gerard stares back at him with his stupid bug eyes, and he’s really, really close.

“Hi,” Frank says, a little weakly, but he figures that’s totally understandable.

“Hi,” Gerard says, “I’m gonna kiss you again, okay? I’ll do it slow, so you can run away if you like.” Frank meets his gaze this time, and smiles, and Gerard leans in and Frank doesn’t run away.

 

Ryan’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he plucks it out, surprised that it’s even able to ring at this point. Good old T-Mobile, he thinks fondly, and answers it despite Spencer’s glare.

“Hey!” Frank says, cheerfully. “Me and Gerard and Mikey and Bob and Ray are in our lounge, the episode’s about to come on TV. You wanna watch it over the phone with us?”

“Uh,” Ryan answers, distracted, “That’d be fun, I’m sure, but—”

“Oh, come on,” Frank groans, “I get that you’re all in love and shit now, but you can totally take a _little_ bit of time out from fucking just to watch the goddamn episode that got you all united and stuff—”

“Um,” Ryan says, “It’s not that – I mean, I would if I could, but—”

“What, then?” Frank asks, impatient and starting to sound slightly petulant.

Spencer yells, “There!” and the jeep screeches into action, throwing Ryan back against the seat and half into Brendon’s lap (thankfully they don’t need to blush and scramble back to their own sides anymore; Brendon just grins absently at him and pats his head).

Brendon shouts, over the rumbling noise in the (not so far, now) distance and the jeep’s engine, “I fucking love the sea but this is _awesome_. Why didn’t we change the goddamn show sooner, Spencer Smith?”

“Because _B.Urie’s General Adventures Around The Place_ just doesn’t have the same ring to it?” Spencer yells back, and Ryan grins.

They reach the top of the hill in time, and Brendon vaults out of the jeep to stand in front of the camera, grinning wildly, hair sticking up everywhere, and the herd of elephants ambles easily past, stirring up huge clouds of dust at their feet.

“Um,” Ryan says. “I’m kind of busy right now. Can I call you back?”


End file.
